


The Waldorf Wolf

by cellostiel



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Murder Family, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Family, Serial Killer Abigail Hobbs, Serial Killer Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 18:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11652156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellostiel/pseuds/cellostiel
Summary: Will meets his eyes again, gaze suspicious. "Why?"It's Hannibal's turn to look towards the kitchen. One of the dogs has its head poked around the corner, watching Hannibal keenly. "I pulled your daughter out of the frying pan. Now I'd like to keep her out of the fire."~Hannibal stumbles across Abigail trying to murder someone, and in a burst of curiosity, helps her cover it up and returns her to Will. Suspicious Will, budding serial killer Abigail, and slow burn murder family.





	The Waldorf Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Yo!!! guess who has a new hannigram fic, fresh off the presses! 
> 
> warnings for minor character death, mentions of blood, and all that good hannibal stuff! depictions of crime scenes may get a bit graphic in future chapters, but should be along the same lines as the show's depictions. 
> 
> let me know if anything needs to be tagged!

Hannibal is in his car, the one he owns under a different name and keeps far away from his house, when Jack Crawford calls him. He's close enough to his destination, so he pulls over and parks before answering. 

"I apologize for the late hour, Dr. Lecter," Crawford says immediately, "but I was wondering if you'd be interested in consulting."

Hannibal raises his brows. He'd planted the seeds for this, just in case, but he never expected it to bear fruit so soon. "I'd be more than happy to offer my services, Jack. What's the case?"

"What do you know about the Waldorf Wolf?"

They left one of their victims just a few miles from Hannibal's house. He'd have been annoyed at the encroachment of his territory if not for the artistry of the display. "They take their victims from wooded areas, then display them in gruesome manners several miles away. Their choice of weapon is a hunting knife and the jaws of a wolf. The only evidence they leave behind is generic dog hairs."

"He just left another body. Our other consultants are stuck, so I wanted a fresh perspective on the case. Think you can draw up a psychological profile on this guy?"

"Certainly. I can be there tomorrow afternoon, if that is suitable."

"That's perfect. Thank you, Dr. Lecter." Jack hangs up swiftly, and Hannibal smiles to himself. Of all the cases he's thought about involving himself in, the Waldorf Wolf by far intrigues him the most. They're nearly as elusive as he, and better yet, their MO keeps altering every few kills. The only constants are the woods, the wolf bites, and missing meat or organs. Although the hint of cannibalism is a fairly recent development, only appearing in the past two years or so.

Hannibal fantasizes often about meeting the Wolf in person, so he can compliment them on their work. And, of course, kill them and eat them. Maybe their brain. Or their heart, if they believe it to be that of a wolf. 

He considers what a heart like that might go good with as he exits his car and starts his careful path to his destination. There, quick work is made of Jacob Plum, and Hannibal has a lovely rack of ribs for the weekend. 

Once the body is arranged, Hannibal makes his way back to his car and stashes the cooler in the back seat. Now to get home in a timely manner.

However, halfway back from his trip to Virginia and about two miles out from the border, something on the side of the road catches his eye. He slows to a stop a ways away and sits for a minute, observing.

The girl with the knife doesn't appear to have heard him, and her companion is too busy fixing a flat on her car to notice a car as quiet as Hannibal's. The girl says something, her free hand brushing her hair behind her ear. Her stance is assumedly shy and embarrassed, her other hand clasping around the handle of the knife behind her back. Her companion says something back, hardly looking up from his task to do so. He almost doesn't see her coming, but then he turns his head as she approaches him, and his eyes catch the knife. It goes downhill from there.

When the man has her pinned to the ground, her own knife pressed against her throat in a way that makes her weep, Hannibal turns his car back on and drives closer, slamming to a stop beside them and hopping out to intervene. The girl's eyes dart to him, and he sees the idea form in her head. 

"Help, he's trying to kill me!" she pleads desperately, shoving at the man. He gives her a bewildered look, but before he can argue, Hannibal has ripped him off her and slammed him into the ground. The man's head cracks against the tar, and the life disappears from his eyes like a bulb burning out. The girl gasps a broken sob. Hannibal staggers back, appearing horrified by what he's done. After a reasonable amount of time, he remembers the girl, and goes to kneel by her side.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods meekly. "What happened?" He knows full well what happened, but he's curious how well the girl will be able to lie.

"I- my car broke down and- he seemed so  _ nice-" _ she stammers, her horrified eyes glued to the body. Rather convincing. "But then he- he pulled out a knife, and-" She breaks down into sobs, pulling her legs to her chest. Hannibal rests a hand on her back, smiling while her face is buried in her knees. 

He could kill her, too, make it look like the man had managed to mortally injure her before she was able to kill him. Then he would be on his way, and he could make a sauce for the ribs in time to have them tomorrow. 

However, today he was handed the Waldorf Wolf case, and finally picked off a nuisance he's been meaning to get rid of for several years now; he's in good spirits. Apparently it makes him merciful, to a degree.

"Would you like me to call the cops?" he offers. He sees the fraction of a second that she tenses before she decides what to do. 

"I just want to go home." she weeps brokenly. Hannibal is willing to accommodate her wishes. But still, there are matters to attend to.

"What do we do with him, then?" he asks, looking to the body. She lifts her head to look as well. 

"I-" She puts a hand over her mouth, looking disgusted with herself. "We could just leave him here." she says, like it's some horrible admission. Hannibal keeps his smirk off his face.

"We could. Someone will find him, and a report will be made. The police will find your car, and come to you with questions." Her face pales. A shame. Hannibal stands, holding his hand out to help her up. She takes it cautiously. "Or, I could drive you home, return here and switch the cars, and return to my own home in your car. The police will come to me with questions instead, and I will tell them that I was the one attacked, and that I staggered away in shock and managed to get myself home." The police won't be able to trace this car to him, but she doesn't need to know that. "It will be ruled self-defense, and you won't be involved at all."

The girl blinks at him, shocked. "Why would you do that for me?"

Hannibal smiles kindly. "I could not stand to see a young girl put in prison because she defended herself. I would rather be inconvenienced by police interrogations."

She eyes him warily. Hannibal puts forth an aura of comfort and trustworthiness. It works. Her shoulders drop, and she breathes "Thank you." in an awed tone. Hannibal smiles. 

The road is quiet enough, and the car is far enough off the road, seemingly swerved there after the tire popped, that Hannibal trusts the scene won't be discovered before he gets back. He leads the girl to his car and they get in together.

"My name is Hannibal Lecter, by the way." he says, to earn another point of trust from her. "I'm a psychiatrist."

"Well, doesn't that work out perfectly." the girl laughs, somewhat hysterically. Not entirely an act, Hannibal suspects. She lets out a breath, half sigh, half sob, then sniffs, rubbing at her nose with her sleeve. "Sorry. I'm Abigail."

"Where do you live, Abigail?"

"Wolf Trap. It's about a half hour from here."

Not as far as she should have gone for this, but forgivable. This is clearly her first hunt on her own. She carries the skills and composure of someone who has done things like this before, but the nerves of a first-timer. She must have a mentor somewhere that has left her to her own devices for the night. Considering her age - ostensibly seventeen or eighteen - it's probably her parent or guardian.

They make the drive in silence, both putting forth an air of horrification at the events that just passed. Once they near Wolf Trap, Abigail quietly directs him to a farmhouse out in the woods. It's nice and secluded, probably a mile or so of woods in any direction, and no neighbors for miles more. A suitable home for a serial killer. 

Before Hannibal even turns the engine off in the gravel driveway, a man bursts out of the house, an entire pack of dogs at his heels. 

"Will!" Abigail jumps out of the car and runs to him. When he sees her, he breaks out into a sprint and catches her halfway, lifting her off the ground with the force of his hug. She clings to him tightly and cries into his shoulder. Hannibal exits his car at a leisurely pace while they have their moment. 

"Where were you?" her father asks, letting her go only to grab her by the shoulders. "I was worried out of my mind."

"I'm sorry." Abigail is trying to collect herself and failing. None of this is an act now. "I- I was on my way home, and-" She seems at a loss for words, her body shaking with tears, so Hannibal steps forward. Her father's eyes snap to him, and he shifts subtly, moving himself between Hannibal and his daughter.

"I came upon her being attacked at the side of the road." Hannibal explains. "I stepped in, but unfortunately her attacker got away." He sees her tense at the lie. Her father's expression is impenetrable, but undoubtedly he felt it. Hannibal's unsure what the man makes of it. It's a little off-putting. 

"Thank you." her father says, eyes sweeping over Hannibal. Sizing him up. Hannibal exhibits every ounce of a mild-mannered citizen who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. The man relaxes somewhat.

"Her car was undrivable; the man that attacked her ran her off the road with his own car. I called to have it towed and brought to a shop."

The man nods sharply. "That's very thoughtful of you. Do you need our number so they can call us when it's ready?"

"That is what I had in mind."

Another sharp nod. "Excuse us, I'll bring it out to you in a minute." He starts to usher his daughter inside, but she gives him a shove.

"Will! He saved my life." The two have a silent argument in hard, meaningful stares, then the man sighs, his tension rising.

"Please, come in." he says, all but gritting out the words. He is highly wary of Hannibal and his intentions. It's understandable. 

Hannibal follows them inside, the pack of dogs curiously inspecting him as they trail after their masters. Inside, the house is a mismatch of various furniture, books heavily lining the walls to the point where there are stacks on the floor next to the shelves. There's a locked gun rack on one wall, above a desk messy with fixings for lures. Fishing rods are propped up against the desk, and various parts of them are strewn about the room. Dog beds are scattered about, almost to the point of consuming the entire floor. On the coffee table by the fireplace, mountains of papers in various states of grading are strewn about, a pair of glasses resting on top as though they were thrown there.

Abigail's father is a teacher who fishes in his spare time, and has a penchant for adopting strays. Examining the details of their hair, eyes, and faces, and the fact that she calls him 'Will', Hannibal concludes that Abigail herself must be one such stray. Yet the man loves all his strays as though they were flesh and blood.

The man himself - who still has yet to introduce himself - takes her into the kitchen and sits her down at the table with a blanket over her shoulders and a mug of tea in her hand. A second cup sits abandoned on the coffee table.

Once he's settled his daughter, their dogs surrounding her, the man returns to the living room where Hannibal has been politely waiting, and digs a pad of paper out from the desk. He carries it over to the coffee table to snatch his red pen, and scribbles down a number. He doesn't look near Hannibal's face as he hands the note to him. Trouble with eye contact, Hannibal presumes.

"I can't thank you enough." the man says, almost as an afterthought when Hannibal takes the paper. "I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't been there to help her."

"Think nothing of it." With feeling, he adds, "I'm only glad she's alive." That knocks a layer of suspicion away from the man, his shoulders lowering slightly as he eyes Hannibal in new regard.

"I'm sorry, I've been rude. My name's Will." He holds out his hand, and Hannibal gives him a reassuring smile as he takes it.

"No need to apologize; this has been a trying night for you, I'm sure. I'm Dr. Hannibal Lecter." Will raises a brow. 

"'Doctor'?"

"Psychiatrist." 

Will snorts, looking to the side. "Of course you are." Hannibal lets a flicker of amusement into  his expression.

"Not too fond of us," he observes.

"No offense to you, Doctor. Just a few too many bad experiences with your kind." 

"Understandable."

A guilty look passes over Will's face, and he clears his throat, saying, "In, uh, in all fairness: Prof. Will Graham." Ah. One of Crawford's consultants. Hannibal twitches his mouth into an appropriate smile.

"I gathered from the papers." He gestures to the coffee table, and Will follows it to the papers, then lets out a self-deprecating laugh.

"Yeah, uh," He steps over to shuffle the papers into a neater pile, saying, "I was trying to distract myself. Anxiety exacerbating justified worry, you know? Not that they're any neater normally."

"I've seen worse." his tone is comforting, the words not directed at the mess of papers. Will seems to understand. He presses his lips together, looking up to meet Hannibal's eyes. It takes visible effort for him to do so. 

"What exactly happened?" he asks, low enough so as not to be heard by Abigail in the other room. Hannibal looks down at his hands, heaving a sigh.

"I'm afraid I was untruthful earlier." he admits. Will's jaw clenches, his hand twitching. Undoubtedly he has some sort of weapon hidden on him for cases such as these. Hannibal meets his eyes. "I didn't want to upset your daughter further, so I changed a few details. Her car is in fine condition, aside from a flat tire. I slowed down when I saw the cars on the side of the road, then-" he pauses, taking a breath, "then I saw her pinned underneath him." Will glances, just for a second, worriedly towards the kitchen. "I stopped to help, and…" He hesitates again, looking away. "I did not mean to, of course. I was trying to get him off her, and his head hit the pavement-" He takes a deep, steadying breath, and carefully meets Will's eyes to softly confess, "He's dead."

Will nods slowly, maintaining eye contact as he absorbs the information. Eventually, he relaxes, eyes dropping away as he says, "I'm sorry you had to go through that." 

"I used to be a surgeon; I have dealt with worse."

Will looks him over consideringly, then asks, "What did you do with the body?"

Hannibal looks away. "We left him there. I planned to return and switch out the cars so that police attention will turn to me once the scene is found. I don't wish for your daughter to be further traumatized by being dragged through an investigation."

"Thank you for that." Will looks to the kitchen again, expression soft. "I… she's been through that before. The interrogations, the trials, the… the  _ public _ backlash. I'd rather not make her deal with it a second time." He looks at the floor, looking at war with himself. "You've helped us a lot tonight. I couldn't ask you to incriminate yourself like that."

"And yet I offer it anyway."

Will meets his eyes again, gaze suspicious. "Why?"

It's Hannibal's turn to look towards the kitchen. One of the dogs has its head poked around the corner, watching Hannibal keenly. "I pulled your daughter out of the frying pan. Now I'd like to keep her out of the fire."

That seems to be a satisfactory answer for Will. He nods. 

"Alright then. I'll leave it up to you. I assume you'll call when it's safe to return her car?"

"Yes. I can give you my number as well, should you need anything."

Will hands him the pad of paper and the pen, and Hannibal writes his number down neatly before returning them. The pad is set down on the coffee table, then Will starts to show Hannibal to the door, halting halfway there and wincing.

"Um, do you- do you need anything for the road, or…?" He looks half embarrassed, half frustrated with the social etiquette, clearly something he often forgets to adhere to. Hannibal smiles graciously.

"Some ice, if I could trouble you." A calculating look appears in Will's eyes, so Hannibal explains, "I was on my way back from the store; I have some refrigerated goods that have been sitting in my car longer than planned." The look vanishes from Will's eyes, embarrassment taking its place.

"Of course. I'll be right back."

He watches Will disappear into the kitchen, the dog at the doorway not abandoning its post even when Will pats its head placatingly. Hannibal makes a mental note to do some research on the Grahams when he gets home. He did a cursory search when he heard the man was working on the Waldorf Wolf case, but it didn't offer him much more than what he's discovered in ten minutes of being here. The only thing this house has not shown him is Will's ties with the FBI. This is not unintentional. But whose benefit is it for? Most likely his daughter, who clearly has a past filled with violence. Though it could also be for Will's own sake, creating for himself a reprieve from the demons of his other job.

Will returns with the ice, and Hannibal takes his leave. He spends the drive back to the scene comparing his observations of Abigail to those of her father. Will had the air of a well-trained officer or agent, and though he hides it under the guise of an unassuming professor, it's clear he keeps that training sharp as a razor's edge. 

Abigail, meanwhile, has the training of a hunter. Will's taught her to fish, no doubt, but one or both of her birth parents taught her to hunt. Hannibal wonders, then, who taught her to murder. If it was Will, he hides it well. Perhaps, then, it was Abigail's birth parents that brought her along when they killed, showed her the tricks of the trade, and now she is trying to continue their work.

Hannibal finds himself intrigued. How rare. He'll have to keep an eye on the Grahams.


End file.
